In an hour's time, a singular inch was the only movement Krieg had made while he sat there, watching the good old blonde doc stare right back at him.
Sure, he breathed; however, he also warred, battling within himself against the desire to attempt any mediocre amount of conversation that might come across as pure nonsense. He was trying to figure out how to word a humble brag that simmered. After all, it was something she could be proud of him for because he hadn't killed a soul in the last seven days.
Monday, Last week, he'd taken out a lunchroom worker with a spatula, digging out a portion of his ear with the snapped off handle. Grudgingly he'd stabbed the thing down his canal, shrieking something to the tune of roadway cones, and those red flares, after hearing the man talk shit about him for the better part of four months. He'd given him plenty of warning, but no....the pretentious fool continued on and on.
Look at her. With that spun silk, shining like the damn sun, in a dreary place like this. You ruin yourself for the everyday life. Ruin yourself against those who defile this place. If only we could walk from here...picture it...us sitting somewhere warm, in the sand, the water on our feet, and the woes of the world packed away and buried.....We could talk like decent human beings....of everything from Freud to whatever was on television....without having to worry about any of this shit......
"Sycophantic doctor. Staring with those pretty eyes....can I pluck them? Wag a tongue and sing my score to you, so we can always stare at one another?" He smiled, suddenly leaning over, his thick arms enveloping the scuff marred metal table. It was his biggest fantasy. To see the sun and the beach again. Hold a real conversation with a woman who wanted him for his smarts. An escape from reality that kept him from deteriorating further. But it was a daydream, and daydreams were...well that. Only a processed imaginative delusion. Especially in this ratted hellhole.
Suddenly grinning he let his hands make their attempts to envelop hers as she wrote, perhaps....just perhaps, attempting to get a rise out of her. Twice a week they met, him spewing his life story, and her writing it all down with a furrowed, forever confused brow. But never once had he touched a hair on her. At least...until now. He just....he just wanted to push a few buttons. Check and see if she'd flinch away.
Standing, leaning further he shifted, attempting to grab a lock of her hair, only to have his hands yanked back as his shoulders drew in close. He wanted to smell her, to taste the bitter kiss of perfume on flesh, to hold her, and see how small she was against his six-foot-nine frame. Drawing his nose against the curve of her cheek, he growled, flexing the give of her neck, the hollow of her collar bone. "I'd like to keep them in the night, let the confines of its jar amplify, hear a pleading whisper for more while I dig. Hear the pant rise in a throat, forced down from my calluses...."
Could she understand that?
Could the doctor genuinely get the idea that she riles a normal man so? Krieg was stuck, trapped in that head of his with his heavily educational thoughts pinging around, toying and playing as if everyone in the room could hear him but openly chose to ignore what he said. Sure, he was more than aware of how he was perceived, but what he knew as full sentences, really and truly were that of a futile babbling push of an attempt to communicate.
Grunting, he tugged, pulling himself against the unforgiving hunch as his chain refused to give leeway anymore, bolted to the floor, with no more space, he felt his frustrations starting to rise. All he wanted to do was touch....it shouldn't have been as hard as it was.