Nobody knows that Clare Edwards had sex with Eli Goldsworthy.
Nobody sees that her skin is tainted by a lone night of indiscretion with a man whom she hardly called an acquaintance.
Nobody realizes that everything is different. Everything is different and twisted and darker for Clare, as if a steely cloud invites itself to hang around during every moment of her day and during every sleepless night.
Nobody notices, of course.
Nobody has time to take note of Clare's sudden changes.
Nobody really cares.
Nobody notices the discarded pregnancy test in the bathroom garbage can, the tear-stained tissues that litter the carpeting near Clare's bed, and the lingering smell of vomit that permeates the dorm and dances in the steam of every shower.
His five o'clock shadow rubs against her plump cheek.
His rough hands grip onto her breasts for support, and for an added pleasure.
His hardness thrusts rhythmically into her.
Her nails run and tickle along his sweat-shined muscles.
Her teeth grip her bottom lip in an effort to mute the animalistic groans of bliss that threaten to escape.
Her walls cinch onto him.
Her breath is lost somewhere between it all.
"Pull out."
"No."
Nobody notices until her clothes hug her belly.
Everybody suddenly cares.
21-year-old Clare Edwards is pregnant. A pregnant college student with an undisclosed baby daddy and a full-ride scholarship is quite the subject of conversation.
Everybody notices everything.
"What a shame," they say, "so much potential, wasted."
Eli Goldsworthy jokes about her when she walks by his dorm room.
"Whale alert! Momma Edwards is fast approaching!"
Their eyes meet for a second- one second too many, she thinks- and a flicker of guilt dances along his brow, through his eyes, around the corners of his pseudo-smirk and down into the very fiber of her being.
Months pass by, and seasons change from snow, to rain, and eventually, to semi-warmth and sunniness.
Clare Edwards and her enormous baby bump are now old news.
From dorm, to apartment, to the back of a van and to a cheaper apartment she goes. The single bedroom is bursting with random baby items that she barely managed to afford at the thrift store. A hand-me-down (handed down 9 times, to be exact) crib sits in the corner of the room, collecting and befriending layers upon layers of dust.
Anthony James Edwards kicks at her ribs furiously, and she soothes his distress with soft humming and gentle rubbing.
3 more weeks and the crib will stop collecting dust, the kicking of her ribs will cease, and the crying sounds of a baby boy will fill the apartment and echo off of each item and into the ears of the tired new mother.
Nobody cares anymore.
A triad of knocks at the splintering front door of her "home" shakes her from her daydreams, and she waddles to peek at the visitor through the foggy peephole.
Eli Goldsworthy stands, looking nervous and guilty as ever, in front of her door.
She contemplates ignoring his attention. She wants him to leave, but something else inside of her insists that she open the door and let the near-stranger into her life, the life that she'd forcibly adapted in the nine months since their intimacy occurred.
She turns the knob slowly and opens it for him, cringing at the squeaky hinges and the way he looks at her with awe and pity and something else unidentifiable.
They stare at each other for a few moments, Clare's head tilted up to meet his gaze, and his tilted down to meet hers. She likes that he is taller than her, but not too tall. Eli likes that she makes him feel taller than he is.
"You have pretty eyes." He says graciously. "I hope our kid has your eyes."
She raises her brow at him and backs up a bit. "Take off your shoes before you come in."
He gives her another smirk as he peels off his boots and steps into the apartment. The dust is the first thing that he really notices.
He sneezes and she tries not to laugh at him.
"I've been a deadbeat." He begins. He pauses a moment for her to protest, but she doesn't say a word besides,
"I'm aware."
He looks down at his toes and Clare is certain that she's never seen a grown man look so vulnerable before.
"I'm sorry, Clare."
It's the first time that he has actually said her name.
"It's a boy." She tells him, and he knows that it is her way of saying that he is forgiven, to an extent. "I'm naming him Anthony."
Eli sits down on the couch and Clare sits next to him. Her eyes are glued to his face, and his are glued to her belly.
"That's a good name." He lifts his hand up and moves it cautiously toward her stomach, but recoils and fists the material of his jacket instead.
"You can touch it if you'd like." Clare offers.
His hand caresses her belly and they both sigh.
"Can we start over?" She asks, and he is taken aback.
He nods and moves a bit closer to her on the couch. "I'm Eli Goldsworthy. And you are…?"
She grins and rolls her eyes before sticking her hand out to him. "Clare Edwards. It's nice to meet you."
I was overcoming the writer's block with this. Don't ask me what it is. It's ridiculous, that's what. I will update Neighbor Man and I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant as soon as I can! Please hang in there with me!