Feral

There was a part of him that he kept locked up. He did so partly to protect others, but also to protect himself. That part loved too strongly and acted without regard for what others thought of him or whether or not behavior would earn him money or position or allies. That part of him was a servant of his soul and listened to nothing else. You can understand now why it was so dangerous. Even with that part of him locked up, he loved so strongly that he was beside himself sometimes, standing there next to the body that went to work, taught classes, sat in meetings, graded papers, bought groceries, paid bills. That side of him, right there off his left shoulder followed him everywhere, but no one knew it was there. And he certainly couldn't say anything about it. He could only absorb it, let it fill him with all the unrequited electricity of desire. Unleashed, this aspect of him would destroy his tidy routine, would fly toward the Beloved without restraint, a focused beam of purpose. A kind of Mr. Hyde would discredit the decades Dr. Jekyll had built so carefully, block by dutiful block. He knew he had to survive in this world and that this feral part of him beholden only to the work of his soul would never make it, much less thrive. Its ferocity ran contrary to every civilized system of thought and behavior he knew. But, there comes a time for everything, even soul in a soul-less scramble to buy and sell and grasp and climb. It got so tiring, all of that responsibility. When he no longer valued the striving, the need to get it right, or to plan it all out, he took the key from beneath his shirt, inserted it into the lock, and turned it with a deliberate twist. The lock fell open with an audible click.