True

It was starting again. I could feel it.

The wall in front of me was plain and grey, the paint cracked and peeling at the edges, stenciled with the accumulative drunken scribbling of the past five years. It was probably filthy. Disgusting. I didn't care. I placed my hand on it, fingers spreading, tendons standing, stretching my skin as I dug my carefully trimmed nails into the concrete. My other hand followed. Then my forehead, as I leant forward and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped some idiot hadn't written on the wall tonight. That would be one hell of an icing, to walk out of here with 'fuck you' written backwards on my forehead.

Slowly, I felt the heat coil and roll inside me, a familiar flame that made my skin burn. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. As much as I hated it, dreaded it; as much as I wanted it to go away, it wasn't. Not yet.

I rolled my head, tilting my face sideways, feeling my brows furrow and my neck crack. I tried to hold it in. Hold it back. As if sensing my reluctance, the heat suddenly ran up my body, and I bit back a groan as my nipples tightened. Wetness pooled between my legs. Even without a mirror, I knew the back of my neck was flushed, hot, and I felt a sudden, unbearable need to feel someone sinking his teeth into my shoulder.

The muscles on my belly constricted suddenly, and my fingers twitched as I resisted the urge to reach down and touch myself. Stop it. There was a dim, fleeting glimmer of logic, far at the back of my brain. Don't. Don't do it. Get a hold of yourself.

As I thought the words, the heat suddenly intensified inside me, making me gasp. My knees threatened to buckle, and I clung to the wall with trembling fingers. A soft whimper escaped my lips as the curling desire in my stomach suddenly twisted, fell past some invisible threshold and became desperate, burning need. It wasn't pleasant anymore. I turned my head again, panting, feeling my nipples harden, my skin flush. The urge to touch myself became painful; the need to have something inside me, something, anything that might ease the ache. It took all the sanity I had left, to keep clinging to the wall and not reach down and just fuck myself until I came. My fingers tightened. The clawing arousal rolled through me for minutes, seconds, making me want to moan and whimper and beg. Fuck…fuck, fuck, oh God, I need…

Just as I was about to give in…it receded. Painfully slowly. The heat swirled, and settled in the pit of my belly. Simmering, wanting, waiting.

I stumbled against the wall, breathing short and shallow. The sudden loss of tension made me feel weak. I could feel it settling across my skin, making me itch, making me anxious. Keeping my eyes closed, I pushed away from the wall on shaky arms.

It was happening again. It always started the same way, with that flash of hot, hot heat, that sudden burning, that desperate throbbing between my thighs. Now it had settled, like it always did, pooling at the pit of my stomach, a simmering desire that made it impossible to think of anything but how achingly empty I felt.

I stood for a minute, wanting to wipe away the slick wetness between my legs, but I knew better. If I started touching myself, I wouldn't be able to stop. Putting both hands on my face, I brushed my hair back – a harsh, frustrated gesture. My skin was damp with sweat, and I closed my eyes as I reached back to feel the heat at the back of my neck, dragging my nails across my shoulders, trying to ease the clawing tension there. My pulse jumped, and I pulled my hands away, leaving red-hot scratches so deep they almost bled. It wasn't enough. It never was.

Eventually I let myself out of the stall. I wondered belatedly how long I'd been in there. Ten minutes? An hour? I had no idea. I made my way over to the sink, turning the water on cold and splashing my face, my neck. It helped ease the burning, a little. I ran my fingers through my hair again, finally looking up into the small, cracked mirror. My eyes stared back at me, slumberous and glazed, dark with arousal. They swirled like molten amber, the pupils too wide, shifting from dark to light and then dark again, in time with the swirling heat inside me. My skin was flushed, feverish. With my disheveled hair, it made me look wanton. Almost debauched. I closed my eyes, and shuddered.

There was a knock at the door. "Jess? You okay in there?"

My head snapped up. His voice was concerned, deep and a little rough, but most importantly, male. It made desire curl involuntarily in my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Yeah," I said. My voice came out husky, and I had to clear my throat. "Yeah, I'll be right out."

He fell silent, and I heard his footsteps as he walked away, the sound of him disappearing into the pounding music from the bar. I gripped the sink with both hands, hanging my head. God, I should never have come tonight. It was fucking stupid. I should have known it was going to happen soon; I had known, I'd noticed all the signs. The clawing tension. How sensitive my skin felt. How my eyes kept being drawn to every man I met. And most of all, fuck, most of all the constant arousal, the perpetual need. God knows I couldn't even remember how many times I'd masturbated over the past few days.

Clenching my jaw, I pushed away from the sink, and straightened. It was doing no good, standing here. I had to leave. Had to, before it got any worse. Because it would. Now that it was starting, it would get worse fast, and I couldn't let that happen here. I steeled myself, and made my way out the door.

Derek was waiting for me behind the bar. I tried to slip past him, but somehow he noticed. "Hey, you okay?" He made his was over, and I bit back a groan.

I made myself stop for a minute, lowering my gaze to the floor. Whatever was in my eyes right now, he didn't need to see it. I tried not to breathe as he came near. "Yeah, I'm…not feeling too good. Flu or something. I'm going to head off. If that's okay."

In the back of my mind I realized I was talking too fast, edgy and anxious, practically slurring my words together. I didn't care. I needed to get out of there. My hands twitched as I brought them up to rub at my arms, then dropped them again. I couldn't stop fidgeting.

I felt him stepping closer, and instinctively backed away. Still, that tiny maneuvering of our bodies caused his scent to hit my nose, and I tried not to moan. God, he smelled good. Like some strange, rugged mix of cologne and cigarettes and maleness. My breath hitched as my mouth went dry. I put my hands behind my back, so I wouldn't be tempted to touch him. To run my fingers down his arms, and press my breasts against his chest, and – stop it.

He'd noticed me backing away, and stopped. For a moment he seemed to hesitate. "Are you sure you're okay? You were in there a while."

At least he was a man. The fact provided some relief. True, he was tall, and dark, and built, and so fucking hot in that T-shirt I'd been staring at all night – but he was a man. A human. The wolf wasn't interested in him. That was possibly my only salvation, with him standing this close.

Suddenly I realized I'd been silent too long. He's asking you something. "Yeah. I think…I'm feeling kind of dizzy, I think maybe I'm…coming down with something. I'm going to go home. Is that okay?" I tacked on the question as an afterthought, remembering belatedly that it was something I should ask. It didn't really matter, though. If I couldn't leave right now, right this minute, he could damn well fire me.

He paused again. "Sure, Jess," he said slowly, still sounding worried, and if there had been room in my head for anything besides arousal, I might have felt bad. "Do you want me to take you home?"

God, he was sweet. The human remembered that, even as the wolf rumbled in annoyance. She wanted to be out of here, and he was wasting her time. "No. No, I'll be fine."

I let him walk me to the door, simply because I couldn't spare the breath to tell him not to. I felt him, his bare skin inches away, his scent floating hazily around my head, making it hard to think, and it took all the self-control I had not to reach out and run my fingers over his skin. I stopped at the door, turning a little to face him. "Thanks, Derek. I'll…give you a call, if-"

"Don't worry about it," he said easily. His voice was low and rugged. God, I'd always loved his voice. "Let me know you got home okay, alright?" He put a hand on my back.

The heat from his fingers rolled over my skin, catching me off-guard. I gasped. My body reacted instantly to his touch, muscles tightening, skin tingling. Unable to stop myself, I lifted my eyes to him, meeting his gaze. I saw the worry in his eyes transform into shock at what he saw there.

Slowly, with inhuman effort, I took a step back from him. It was like stepping away from a magnet. "Good night, Derek," I said. My voice was low and husky, and as much as I wanted to cringe at it, at how it sounded, I didn't.

He nodded numbly, saying nothing, and I tore my eyes from his and turned away, not waiting for an answer. I forced my feet forward, one after another, walking away from him. Trying to keep a steady pace. My fingers trembled, and my breath shook. My legs itched to break into a run, but I tamped down the urge. I wasn't sure they wouldn't have gone running back to him.

Fighting the instinct inside, I walked away.