The Hunger

Disclaimer: Life with Derek is not mine, sadly.

Sometimes it would become almost unbearable. He felt it crawling up his flesh, tingling his spine, his fingertips rushing to busy themselves almost as if they would catch fire if they didn't, frantic in their search for distraction. But whatever he did, it was merely a temporary, empty release that only calmed the flames, but the burning fire within him, a glowing cinder of need and hope and forbidden thoughts, never vanished.

The Hunger was always there; persistent, impatient and only allowing the most fleeting moments of tranquility.

His hands had a mind of their own, shaking when he was nervous, fidgeting when he was uncomfortable. People say the eyes are the window to your soul, but for him, it was his hands that truly revealed him. He had perfected the art of lying a long time ago, and as long as people kept looking into his eyes and not at his hands while he was doing it, he had nothing to worry about. But with her, he was always afraid they would one day give him away, (she had a way of making him do things he really did not want to do) so he made sure to keep them in a tightly closed fist when around her, whenever he felt his control slipping.

It didn't help that she was always so damn close. Sitting across from him at the dinner table, watching TV on the family couch and her bedroom just a few feet away; that sacred place of innocence he so badly wanted to infiltrate.

So close, always so close...

It had not always been this way. In the beginning, the dislike had been real. He couldn't have cared less about his new family then, they were strangers in his house, disrupting his carefree life with their new rules and perfectionism and eyes that watched his every move and never ceased to criticize. And she had been the worst of them. She could be very unpleasant if she didn't get what she wanted and her stubbornness had brought on a myriad of problems and complications for him in the years that they had lived together.

But despite everything the Hunger came… quite suddenly, just a pang first and nothing he allowed himself to worry about too much. After all, he was not one to be concerned with such trivial things such as feelings. And so, like an untreated wound, it grew and developed in the weeks and months that followed, infected and consumed his mind and body; an indestructible and unyielding force within him. He knew he was obsessed, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

She didn't know and never noticed, or at least so it seemed. He always managed to turn his stare into a sneer, longing into loathing and raging jealousy into bored indifference the second her eyes (those sharp instruments that could cause instant death) met his.

If only she wasn't such a good girl. But maybe, he thought, this was just part of her appeal; the innocence he so desperately wanted to take from her, the naïveté with which she adored her useless boyfriend, the façade of the prim-and-proper princess which sometimes cracked ever so slightly when she lost control over her emotions and her mouth, and which was a sight mostly reserved for him. He wanted to kiss that mouth; that wicked, pink mouth that said so many saintly things, but did such evil things to him. He wanted to claim that mouth; claim her and make her his, but he knew couldn't.

He had other girls, of course, to satisfy the more physical aspects of the Hunger, and although they could never provide the ultimate release that he was looking for, at least they made it better for a little while.

They surrounded him wherever he went and all he had to do was point a finger and the girl in question was his for the taking, boyfriend or no boyfriend. It was a power gained over time and he was not afraid of using it.

He never treated them badly; knowing better than most that the wrath of a woman can do worse things to a man than just bruise his ego, but he was not kind, either. Maybe it was cruel and heartless, but he just couldn't bring himself to think of them as anything else than a mere physical distraction while the Hunger was raging inside of him.

None of them would ever truly have all of him; in fact, they usually never surpassed the status of arm candy and fleeting acquaintance with bed rights before he moved on to the next person.

Always searching; searching for a substitute for her, his secret drug, but never finding it.

Everything always came back to her. Start and finish. The beginning and end of all things he knew.

Sometimes he was careless in his feverish quest for relief. Some of his girlfriends, if they had gained the privilege of intimacy for a little while, complained to him afterward, telling him he was too rough, too demanding. He would only laugh innocently and blame inexperience to pacify them (they thought it was too cute), but secretly he thought he would trade all of them if he could only have her instead… and he would be so gentle, he would surrender and give her everything he couldn't and wouldn't give them. Sometimes even he felt a little disgusted with himself. But only sometimes.

None of the girls he went out with ever dumped him, either; he was the one in control, so he made sure he was the one dumping them. But when it came to her, he lost every semblance of control ever possessed. It was ironic, really.

He had a certain irresistible charm girls just couldn't help but fall victim to… even after he got what he needed and had discarded them once he got bored. He knew that he could ask them every favor in the world and they would willingly submit to his every wish.

One night, when the Hunger had left a particularly bitter taste in his mouth after watching her dote on her idiot boyfriend all day, he decided to call Amy, one of his many ex-girlfriends, with a devilish plan. Of course she agreed immediately, not questioning his reasons in favor of a few minutes of his attention.

The next day at school he waited in a well-concealed corner as Amy made her appearance in the cafeteria, where the inseparable pair was having lunch together. Amy started squealing in a high-pitched voice the words he had rehearsed with her the night before and which would (hopefully) permanently remove the annoying boyfriend from the picture once and for all. He watched with a smirk as the girl hopped on the unsuspecting victim's lap (his dumbfounded, confused expression never matching his dull personality better) and pressed a wet kiss to his mouth, telling him how much she had missed him. In his corner, he snickered quietly to himself, reveling in his triumph… until his gaze fell on her.

Eyes wide with disbelief and hurt, her face had blanched, resembling a white sheet of paper as she sat there, stiff with shock at what had just taken place right in front of her.

He hadn't expected the feeling of immense guilt that flooded him almost instantly and for a moment he felt something resembling remorse for being the cause of her grief. But he knew he did the right thing, because in his mind, he figured if he couldn't have her then nobody else should.

He turned around and calmly, with a spring to his step, exited the cafeteria to escape the shouting match that was sure to follow.

When he came home that day he saw her sitting in his recliner, blankly staring at the muted TV where two badly-drawn cartoon characters were chasing each other on the screen. She looked up when she heard the door slam shut and did not avert her eyes when he came closer, stepping right in front of the TV and studying her with his head tilted and his face carefully trained to show no expression whatsoever.

She wasn't crying like he had expected her to and there was no sign of the over-dramatic breakdown she usually reserved for special occasions like this and which the whole family would have to suffer through. Instead, she stared up at him, defiance written across her pale face as if daring him to make fun of her, to mock her bad choices and her cursed luck and every single flaw she possessed. But he never did.

A part of him knew right then that he was in love with her. The realization of it struck him like lightning.

He turned on the spot and walked upstairs with a casual demeanor that belied the battle he was fighting in his head. Once safely locked up in his room, he started pacing. He needed a good plan to kill whatever it was that had possessed him and he needed it now.

The days that followed were a blur of parties and even more girls and distractions - just to get away from her and the curse she had put upon him. He avoided her as much as he could and she did not seem to be particularly upset about it. Not that he would know if she was, because he rarely even looked at her these days if he couldn't help it.

But one Sunday morning, when the family had gone out for shopping and he thought himself alone in the house, he decided to watch TV in the living room and enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted. What he didn't expect was to see her sitting on the couch, furiously wiping away her tears when she saw him approaching. The air of misery she exuded was so evident that he once again felt the uncomfortable tightness in his stomach that he so despised; the guilt was starting to gnaw at him again. He wanted to turn away and run, but for some inexplicable reason he found himself sitting down next to her, forgetting every rule he had set for himself in the past about staying as far away from her as possible.

She simply looked at him and for the first time he felt absolutely terrified, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and all it would take was a slight nudge from her and he'd fall into an endless, gaping abyss.

It was his hands that gave him away eventually; the one weakness he couldn't disguise, traitorous fingers that reached out to catch a stray tear as they continued to stare at each other in silence. He hadn't realized his hands were shaking until she reached for them, curious eyes darting back and forth between his face and his hands. Confusion and then something else, something much more powerful, settled in her eyes.

And this time he could not catch himself in time; weakened by the ever-present Hunger and frozen with fear, he couldn't put on his mask of indifference fast enough to deceive her. In his earnest gaze, she saw something that frightened and excited her. Yes, it was for all the wrong reasons, she realized that; but it was still there, existing in a corner of her heart she'd thought had died not so long ago.

He knew then that she knew from the flustered way she dropped his hands into her lap and the way her mouth started stammering words he couldn't decipher anymore because everything had suddenly turned fuzzy and distorted.

So, eventually, the Hunger had won. Vaguely, he wondered if this was how it must feel like if you know the world and everything around you is coming to an end.

Game Over. No more lives left.

He jumped up, startling her out of her stupor, and made a mad dash for the stairs, hoping against hope that it wasn't what it seemed to be, that she hadn't realized what was happening. He closed the door behind him, sinking into his bed with his face in his pillow, trying to mute all thoughts. All that followed was a dreamless, weightless sleep.

When he awoke, there was nothing but silence. His head hurt and he thought his heart was beating too loudly before he realized it was somebody knocking on his bedroom door. Expecting his dad or brother, he went to open it only to see her standing in his doorway, and once again the world turned upside down.

She didn't say anything as she entered his room, carefully closing the door, back turned to him for a few gut-wrenching seconds in which he silently awaited his death sentence, while she tried to gather the nerve to do what she had yearned to do for the last couple of hours and possibly along time before that.

And then she turned around, and there were no insults, no yelling or tears or accusations. Only blissful softness as she suddenly leaned close, cradling his face in both of her hands, her kiss on his lips silent and greedy and wonderful all at once. He was too stunned to do much else but stare at her when they finally broke apart; but this time, when he looked into her eyes, he instantly recognized what was hidden there in the blue depths... it had become so familiar to him; it was something he felt and lived and breathed every day.

He could see it there, reflecting his own expression back at him like a mirror, as clear as if she had told him in words; he saw the Hunger.

With a smile, he reached behind her to lock the door.

A/N: Okay, wow. I haven't written anything in over a year and then suddenly inspiration strikes and I end up writing this. Not quite sure how I feel about it, but then again I have a love-hate relationship with everything I write so this is no exception… I'm experimenting with a different style of writing here, a little darker and angstier. You have probably noticed there is no dialogue and no names (except Amy, but she is not important). I was thinking of Derek and Casey while writing it, but leaving out the names somehow made it more... poignant, maybe? I don't know. It just fit the way I wrote the whole thing. Can't really explain the absence of dialogue, though. Sometimes it helps a story and sometimes it doesn't, which his why I left it out - I think in this case it works fine without it. But it's up to you, my lovely readers to tell me if I'm right and if you liked it or not. (hint, hint)