Fingernails

The familiar strobe of the fan light, yellow in my peripherals. The sweet sting of blood, squeezing between my teeth.

I'm not going to even think about it. Nope.

Even still I can feel the smoothness that would normally be a rugged edge, not catching on the grooves in my calloused thumbprint, as it normally would. I am lying to myself, of course, even as drool fills my vacuumed cheeks. I can think of nothing but it. Chewing on the gummy flesh, the inside of my face wrinkles, I do my best to ignore the throb.

The pull: The shaky numb of the small hard shell, myself being so aware of it's presence. The mild irritation, like a bug crawling underneath there. No amount of pressure applied, no number of white crescents dotting my palm, could ever stop the ache.

Place the left leg over the right, place the right leg over the left. Wiggle the toes, and shift again.
It's no use, and my cheek is bleeding on the other side now.

C R U N C H ; I give in to temptation. I have never felt such relief, from such a small, insignificant, every day sensation. My finger even feels lighter, too!

Ahh, there it is.... the catch. I drag my now significantly shorter nail across the ridged stretch of thumb, finally able to type comfortably. No, today will not be the day I stop biting my nails.