He was struggling. He knew it, hated it but kept on going. He didn't have a choice, too many people depended on him showing up and doing his job.
He knew he was torturing himself but those few seconds of seeing her made his heart beat faster. He hated the fact she had that affect on him. He hated that he couldn't do anything about it.
He tried but she was oblivious to him and then she ignored him and then when she was nice…he really couldn't cope with any of those scenarios.
No one liked to be ignored but when she was nice to him all he could think of was what he couldn't have… and it made him crazy.
He sometimes caught the glances she sent his way and she looked so disappointed in him, but sometimes she smiled as if forgiving him for being an idiot. All anyone wanted was to be loved and accepted and treated with kindness. Things got in the way.
She didn't talk to him, she wasn't one of those people who would stop and chatter at him. Lately she even seemed to walk away whenever he came close to her. He knew he probably had himself to blame. He did feel shame for wanting her more than he should. She'd somehow gotten under his skin and the pain he felt when she was away was akin to that line from Jane Eyre about hearts and strings breaking at great distance.
He soaked in the sight of her when he could, memorising her imperfections. It didn't matter anyway. It wasn't her looks that drew him to her.
He wanted her. He wanted her anyway he could get her but she wasn't free. She wasn't there to be had or taken or even approached.
The one time he tried talking to her, away from prying eyes, his voice barely rose above a whisper and all he managed to say was, 'You ok?'
She shot back a surprised 'Yeah' and continued walking.
How he'd dreamed of taking her somewhere quiet and kissing her till her lips swelled and she agreed to be his.
Torture. He was putting himself through torture.
He wanted to take her into his office, close all the blinds and fill the room with memories that would keep him going for months. He couldn't take her home, as he'd never let her leave.
Would she taste as sweet as she smelled? Would she be as soft as he imagined?
He must hate himself to have this run on repeat in his head. But what else was he to do?
He dreaded to think what she thought of him. He knew she noticed him now. He'd behaved like a right prat on enough occasions.
Sunday nights were filled with anticipation, he'd dream of her and what life could have been like if only he'd met her sooner. He'd be a father and feel proud to call her his wife. The indulgence of those dreams always hit him hard but he knew he'd see her in the morning.
Why couldn't he take her in his arms and kiss her? Right…
It felt so good to feel her in his dreams. He imagined the little moans she made as he gave her pleasure. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the illusion. Those moments of pretence were all he had.
He imagined her wanting him, returning his kisses, leaning into his touch. He was hard just at the thought of her with him. He wanted her so much. He wanted to be inside her, making her orgasm. That moment as he entered her, when they became one, he wanted to see her eyes, to make sure she knew it was him. He wanted it to always be him.
It had been so long since he'd felt anything like that.