My Addiction
I watched him with a disillusioned curiosity. He leaned against a pale brick wall, his arms crossed over a broad chest. Dark eyes smoldered like two obsidian coals against alabaster skin. The glow of the cigarette dangling from his thin lips burned in the shadows that cloaked him. Shaggy scarlet hair hung low over his hooded eyes. I chewed slowly on the bland peanut butter and jelly sandwich that hung limp and forgotten in my paint spotted hands. Strands of wispy hair fell into my eyes; the urge to draw him overwhelmed me. I tossed the sandwich onto the plastic bag lying discarded on the wooden table. Pulling a pad of paper and sharpened pencil from my fraying bag on the bench beside me, I began to sketch. It sketched the domineering presence of his body surrounded by the dark ocher of the shadows. The burning intensity of his eyes seemed to melt the paper. The glow of his cigarette lit the shadows surrounding him. His smooth ivory skin mottled with scars, skin stained with the black ink of a tattoo spiraling around a muscled forearm.
I chewed on my lip, sketching my sick fascination, my addiction. Watching him sent a lull through my veins like a drug. His name rolled around him my head, Donovan Black. My fingers flew across the page, the silvery shading blended into my skin. I tasted the biting intensity on my tongue. As I sketched my last twist on the drawing, I looked up and found the spot where he once stood vacated. I dreaded the disappointment that flushed through me. A deep presence sat across from me. I glanced up and the simmering gaze that locked onto mine set shocks through my body. My mouth felt as if cotton had been shoved into it. A strong willowy hand grabbed the pad from my hands. He gazed at the sketch, astonishment glimmering in his eyes. Handing it back to me, he pushed a stray strand of hair out of my eyes and the corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk.
Getting up he walked away and I watched as my addiction slipped from my veins. I was content with watching.