𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒚 ( Unfinished)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

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𝐀 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐤
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Friday, November 17th, 2017

"Jose Palacios, his oldest servant, found him floating naked with his eyes open in the purifying waters of his bath and thought he had drowned. He knew this was one of the many ways the general meditated, but the ecstasy in which he lay drifting seemed that of a man no longer in this world."

I sit cross-legged on my bed, book in hand. Luce's four-week-old fetus may not have ears yet, but I've heard that they can still sense vibrations. And what better way to bond with a growing baby than through literature?

I pause in my reading as I feel Luce's eyes on me. I look up to see her staring with a strange expression on her face. "Is everything okay?" I ask, concerned.

Luce blinks a few times before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, it's just...I don't understand why you're reading out loud to my belly."

I turn my attention to her stomach, where a tiny little being is growing. "It's just a way to connect with the baby and for the baby to hear my voice," I explain, placing a hand there. "I've read that it can help with their development too."

Luce nods, a small smile forming on her face. "That's really sweet," she takes my hand, tossing it away, "but I'm busy."

I pull my hand back, feeling annoyed by Luce's sudden dismissal. "Okay, I understand," I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Do you need some quiet time to work on your paper?"

Luce nods, her eyes still focused on her laptop screen. "Yes, I have a paper due tomorrow and I need to focus," she says, her voice clipped.

I nod, standing up from the bed. "Alright, I'll leave you to it then. Just let me know if you need anything."

Luce doesn't even acknowledge my words as I quietly leave the room. I can't help but feel a bit hurt by her sudden change in demeanor, but I'll just blame it on the hormones (Pronounced Whore-Moans) for now.

Further down the narrow hallway, as I look up, I see a man. He walks towards me holding his clothes to his...goods. His eyes glue to the floor, with cheeks so red you'd think he had painted them that color.

A young woman steps out of one of the rooms clenching onto her jacket. She's pissed. I don't have to be a genius to pick up on that. She's yelling at whoever's in the room, someone I can not see.

I almost want to hide when she turns my direction and marches this way. I must be invisible because neither the man nor the woman give me a single glance as we stroll past one another.

With a quick look over my shoulder, I see it's just me in the hall once again.

A sock? My feet mold themselves to the floor at the sight of a lonely sock. Upon picking it up the movement through the corner of my eyes pulls my attention.

My body stiffens like a deer in headlights at the display of her without a shirt. Peering over her shoulder, Lizzie catches my eye. There seems to be no concern about her being half naked in front of me. "Hey, could you lend a hand?"

I carry the sock into her dorm and shut the door behind me. She drops her hands to her side, choosing to take my assistance then battle with the hook of her bra. While turning her head, she moves her long damp hair from the way, exposing even more of her back.

I take a hold of the fabric, my knuckles lightly pressing into her skin. I unbind the hook revealing a few red lines left in its wake. I hear a sigh and take that as my cue to look away. To keep myself occupied while I wait for her to get re-dressed, I look over the room.