Urges

James hadn't been driving for more than thirty seconds when he could feel that tautness in his muscles pulling him, begging for him to put them to use. It was a feeling that came over him from time to time - a soreness primarily in his arms that came seemingly from nowhere, and was not relieved by relaxation, but by action. It wasn't painful, persay, but it was pretty distracting from anything that he had to do when it arrived. He gripped the steering wheel as he drove down to the store, pushing against it, trying to will the feeling away. But it did not fade.

Nor did it fade as he made his way around the store, picking up supplies and groceries that he would need for the week. As he gathered them all into his cart, he had a hard time shaking the urge to throw them down as hard as he could, or to launch them across the store and see how far they would fly. He never did, of course, because he had years of experience dealing with and controlling these urges, but the thoughts were in his mind. His muscles were desperately calling. At times, they were far more aggressive than others, and this was one of them. They were demanding of his attention, and he knew that when he got home, he would have to do something about them.

The drive home was just as bad as the drive to the store. He wondered briefly if putting the pedal to the metal and zooming over the road would do anything to ease the yearning, but at the same time he'd rather not find out. There were a number of speedbumps along the road home, and he didn't want to risk injury to himself, his car, or his groceries by literally flying over them. So he continued to push with his hands rather than his feet, and bottle up the need he felt.

His arms were shaking as he carried everything into the house when he got home. His roommate, Sam, didn't seem to notice. He was playing video games on the couch, not paying much mind as the groceries were brought in, piled onto the kitchen table, and slowly filtered through and put away. It was, after all, James' turn to do the shopping. Sam had done it the week before. But what did catch Sam's attention was the boxing gloves that landed in his lap after James was done.

"Happening again?" Sam asked.

James nodded, already pulling on his own boxing gloves. The urge was primarily in his arms, tightening and compressing the muscles one used when throwing punches. But it wasn't just the urge to throw punches, or even to feel a punch land. It was the urge to be punched, as well. It was an urge to not only fight, but to be in a fight. Punching bags had never done the trick, because it was a one sided conversation. James needed a dialogue of blows - one that didn't necessarily have a winner at the end of a debate.

Sam was good for that. He wasn't the best fighter: he was sloppy, a little slow, and had a big wind up. But he hit hard. Every blow he threw, James could feel rocking through him, even as he blocked them and retaliated. It was the exact kind of feeling he needed to relieve the urge in his body. They only sparred for about five minutes. It may not have seemed like much, but the two didn't hold back on each other. And at the end of those five minutes, if James could even lift his arms to swing he was lucky. And that was just what he needed.