She caught the admonishing eye of the woman sitting on the other side of the conference table and realized she had been clicking her pen obsessively. With a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on the presenter, trying hard to ignore the craving that was building up in her. She needed the job, it didn’t matter how mind bendingly boring it was, or how tiresome her colleagues. It wasn’t just the paycheck, though that was essential for them to live. More than that, she had to prove she could control her impulses, and behave like an adult. Her addiction was taking over her life, slowly consuming every conscious moment, and she was missing out on important things now, birthdays, report cards, meals. Her husband had long since resigned himself to her absences, but now she caught the anxious restlessness on her kids’ faces. They could see the change, the times she forgot important dates, or times she had to pick them up. And while she didn’t care for others, she felt terrifyingly guilty for putting her kids through this uncertainty, and for them and for herself, she knew she needed to manage her habit.

But the itch remained, even as she tightened every muscle, willing her hands to lay carelessly on her lap, her legs casually crossed, her head angled slightly, a pleasant, interested smile directed at the speaker. The whispered yearning slowly grew into a roaring consuming fire, licking through her veins, dancing on her skin. She noticed the goosebumps raised on her forearms as she tried to unobtrusively check the time on her phone. Only two minutes left. People were nodding and collecting their papers and coffee cups, chatting strategically. She forced herself to stand up slowly, and murmur some words, her steps measured, still smiling, the urgency driving her till she reached the bathrooms and locked herself into the large handicap stall. And with a sigh, she gave in to her need, her passion. Almost compulsively she started typing, the words flowing in a tsunami of feelings, raw emotions spilling messily in jagged words that bit into the screen. She didn’t decide to write. She had to write.