Entrusted
Chapter Three- Listening
When John returned home that night, his two youngest children sat in front of the television screen, which only provided Father's teachings on how important it is that humans be senseless, to obliterate hatred towards others and to never smile, under penalty of death. He walked to them, and watched as their eyes were wide open, staring mercifully at the screen, taking in every word that Father said, be it wrong or not.
"Good Evening, children."
"Good Evening, John.", both of them said in unison.
He turned towards the main hallway, where he passed Cassandra's door. He pressed his ear to the door, where to his surprise, he heard . . . noises. They were unlike anything he had ever heard before. They were small and faint at first, but then grew louder. What was it? John felt wrong in his way ,and a large cramp formed in the pit of his stomach. He heard Cassandra breathing, hard, like she had been running. His confusion gnawed at him, and he pressed his head harder against the door.
Voices, muffled, whimpering, laughter, skin against skin, rustling, laughter again, more whimpers, what is this? A deep, male voice moans, a tearful cry, laughter, the smack of a kiss, more laughter.
John still felt wrong, but he had encountered these sounds before. He put his hands up on the door and pressed his forehead against it. He closed his eyes and envisioned when he himself had had this encounter before.
The feel of her skin, her lips on mine, her hands on my back, sweating, heart beating fast.
The noises continued on for another twenty minutes, before the encounter came to a noisy halt, first with his, whomever he was, exertion of passion, then hers. John then heard the creak of bedsprings, more muffled voices, the opening and closing of a door. She then began to walk to the door, the soft padding sound of her bare feet against the floor woke John up from his dramatic daydream. He made himself to leave, but he did not clear the door in time to make it appear as though he was just passing by.
John looked her over, from head to toe, seeing that her skin had a pink flush, and a fresh gleam of sweat shone brightly on her face and her body. The wound on her eyebrow was clean and taped: it now looked like a small sliver of moon on her face.
Cassandra's face had a flash of worry and despair at the same time.
"How long have you stood there?"
"I-I haven't, at all."
She looked skeptical for a moment., but her face became unreadable. Cassandra brushed past him, and walked down the long hallway to the bathroom.
"Cassandra."
"I don't want to speak of it."
She shut the door to the bathroom, and John heard the rush of water a few moments later.
Chapter Three- Listening
When John returned home that night, his two youngest children sat in front of the television screen, which only provided Father's teachings on how important it is that humans be senseless, to obliterate hatred towards others and to never smile, under penalty of death. He walked to them, and watched as their eyes were wide open, staring mercifully at the screen, taking in every word that Father said, be it wrong or not.
"Good Evening, children."
"Good Evening, John.", both of them said in unison.
He turned towards the main hallway, where he passed Cassandra's door. He pressed his ear to the door, where to his surprise, he heard . . . noises. They were unlike anything he had ever heard before. They were small and faint at first, but then grew louder. What was it? John felt wrong in his way ,and a large cramp formed in the pit of his stomach. He heard Cassandra breathing, hard, like she had been running. His confusion gnawed at him, and he pressed his head harder against the door.
Voices, muffled, whimpering, laughter, skin against skin, rustling, laughter again, more whimpers, what is this? A deep, male voice moans, a tearful cry, laughter, the smack of a kiss, more laughter.
John still felt wrong, but he had encountered these sounds before. He put his hands up on the door and pressed his forehead against it. He closed his eyes and envisioned when he himself had had this encounter before.
The feel of her skin, her lips on mine, her hands on my back, sweating, heart beating fast.
The noises continued on for another twenty minutes, before the encounter came to a noisy halt, first with his, whomever he was, exertion of passion, then hers. John then heard the creak of bedsprings, more muffled voices, the opening and closing of a door. She then began to walk to the door, the soft padding sound of her bare feet against the floor woke John up from his dramatic daydream. He made himself to leave, but he did not clear the door in time to make it appear as though he was just passing by.
John looked her over, from head to toe, seeing that her skin had a pink flush, and a fresh gleam of sweat shone brightly on her face and her body. The wound on her eyebrow was clean and taped: it now looked like a small sliver of moon on her face.
Cassandra's face had a flash of worry and despair at the same time.
"How long have you stood there?"
"I-I haven't, at all."
She looked skeptical for a moment., but her face became unreadable. Cassandra brushed past him, and walked down the long hallway to the bathroom.
"Cassandra."
"I don't want to speak of it."
She shut the door to the bathroom, and John heard the rush of water a few moments later.